WHAT WE OWE OUR SOLDIERS

Memorial Day has always held a special place in my heart.  Each year, our high school choir was invited to sing at Memorial Day observances at Oneota Cemetery in West Duluth. 

Oneota lies on a lovely hill overlooking the Duluth harbor.  We'd stand there, our choir robes billowing in the breeze, and listen while politicians gave speeches and an honor guard fired a 21-gun salute.  A lone musician--sometimes a military man--would play "Taps," and the sound would echo mournfully off the rocky hillside.  Little flags placed by American Legion and VFW members fluttered over the graves of the fallen soldiers buried there. 

These ceremonies always touched me, but they held little personal emotional significance. After all, what do any of us understand of tragic loss or noble sacrifice at the tender age of 15 or 16?

When I became the mother of a son, I came to know the universal fear of all mothers--that their sons (or daughters, now) might be called to serve.  Thankfully, by the time my son reached draft age, the draft was history and the U.S. was into the all-volunteer army.  Now he is past the age where the military might consider him useful.  (Sorry, buddy, but they don't draft 41 year olds unless they're really desperate.)

Now, when we celebrate Memorial Day, my feelings are a jumbled mix of sadness, relief, guilt and anger.  I feel sad to think of the immeasurable losses experienced by mothers and dads, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives.  And the poor children--all those children who will grow up without their moms or dads because of "the war." My heart breaks for them.

I feel relieved that my son was not one of those who was called to make the ultimate sacrifice.  I feel a weird kind of guilt, as if somehow I was given a gift I didn't deserve at the expense of other mothers who did the heavy lifting, carrying the grief of their generation on their brave shoulders.

And I feel anger--an intense, up-from-the-gut anger that our world can't find better solutions to conflict than sending our sons and daughters out into the mess to kill or be killed. I believe it would be accurate to say that almost every war fought throughout human history was the indirect result of a previous war.  Boundaries change, religions change, leaders change, ideals and values change, tactics change.  But war still breeds war; aggression breeds aggression; hate breeds hate, and our children continue to die.

On this Memorial Day, perhaps each of us can vow to do everything in our power to stop the hate, and strive instead for understanding, tolerance and respect for the rights of others. It is the least we can do to honor those who died for our own rights.